One of Those Days
by Hannah Taylor1
Summary: The partners have a terrible day, leading Booth to come up with a very strange solution to their run of bad luck. Largely fluffy. After all the recent angst, it was fun to write about the partners actually laughing and enjoying each other's company again!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Part 1 of 2. The final chapter will be posted next Thursday.**

**Ever had one of those days when absolutely everything that**_** can**_** go wrong**_** does**_** go wrong, to the point where it almost seems that the fates are conspiring against you? Brennan may not believe in fate, but she's about to have one of those days … ****(so is Booth.)**

**Thanks much to L., who always takes time to carefully beta my work no matter how busy she is. And thanks to everybody who read and reviewed **_**GraveDigger Reimagined2. **_**I hope this story is a satisfying departure from angst, prior to my next multi-chap fic, which will be decidedly less fluffy.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**9:45**

"Brennan."

Cam frowned as the scientist's sleepy voice came over the line. "Dr. Brennan, it's Cam. Are you okay?"

There was a sound of rustling, followed by a loud _thump _and an irate curse.

"I'm fine." Brennan finally replied, sounding much more awake now that she had apparently stubbed her toe on something in lieu of a jolt of caffeine. "Why are you calling?"

Cam glanced up at the clock. The tardiness was so unusual, she felt compelled to offer some kind of excuse for her typically obsessively punctual employee. "Did I somehow forget that you were coming in late today? I don't have it written down, but it's 9:45 and—"

"9:45? That's not possible. My alarm would have gone off." The line went dead for a minute. When Brennan came back on a moment later, her voice was crisp and business-like, indicating that all signs of emotion had been curtailed in favor of efficiency. "I'll be in by 10:30 and will stay late to make up the hours."

"There's really no need," Cam began, feeling absurdly guilty. "Take your time getting here. I'm sure there's a reasonable explana—hello?" The dial tone replaced Brennan's voice and she held the phone to her ear for a long minute before finally snapping it shut and staring at it curiously.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan glared at the dead alarm clock. She flipped the light switch and found that it too was unresponsive. One last test, this one of her bedside lamp, confirmed that all the electricity in her apartment had gone off at some point during the night. Usually she woke before 5:00 a.m. even without electronic assistance, but it seemed that the one day that modern technology failed her, so did her circadian rhythms.

It wasn't her nature to panic. She tossed the alarm clock onto her bed and limped over to the bathroom, favoring her bruised right metatarsal. Brennan stepped inside, blinking in the darkness, and felt her way over to the shower. She pulled off the sweats she had worn to bed and stepped into the cubicle. With one hand, she applied shampoo to her hair, while with the other she turned the faucet.

A blast of freezing water sprayed across her bare skin. She shivered under the powerful stream, waiting for it to warm up. Several minutes later, with her body turning metaphorically blue, Brennan reluctantly conceded that something was wrong with the pipes and that she wasn't going to get any hot water this morning.

She rinsed the remainder of the suds out of her hair as quickly as possible, shut off the water, and stepped back out, reaching for her towel. It should have been folded in its customary place, but her groping hands found nothing. After a brief, blind search, she concluded that she must have forgotten to place a fresh towel out after doing laundry yesterday.

Brennan bit back a sigh and stalked back out of the bathroom butt-naked. She toweled herself off with her pajamas briskly and pulled on her work clothes, ignoring the fact that her wet hair immediately began to soak down the back of her shirt. She tucked it up into a messy bun and chose one of her favorite necklaces from her dresser. It was a small thing, but nice pieces of jewelry always made her feel better. As she fastened the clasp, she felt her irritation at the bad start to the day begin to ease.

Her toe throbbed as she slid on a pair of sandals, and she absently noted that she had torn off part of the nail and would need to bandage the minor injury at work. Brennan smoothed her clothes, made sure the necklace was centered, and headed into the living room to collect her purse and keys.

Her purse was on the coffee table, but her keys were not on their hook by the door. Frowning, Brennan scanned the room, trying to remember what she had done with them when she arrived home the previous night. She had put them on the hook. She was sure of that. Placing her keys on the hook was as routine as locking the door behind her after stepping inside. The empty hook mocked her usually flawless memory.

She began a careful search of the living room, searching the countertops, the bookcases, even under the carpet. Nothing. Maybe under the couch pillows … no. On her writing desk? No. The breakfast table … no. The ticking of the kitchen clock warned her that it was now 10:15 and she was no closer to the lab than she had been when Cam initially woke her.

Increasingly baffled, Brennan systematically turned her apartment upside down, searching everything from the microwave to the fridge, even though she knew those were irrational places to even consider. Just as she finished crawling around on her hands and knees on the kitchen floor, she spotted her coat hanging on the back of a chair. Standing up and dusting her knees off, she grabbed the garment and rifled through the pockets. Sure enough, there were her keys.

There was no point in overreacting. Brennan exhaled wearily, feeling as though she'd been up for 12 hours, rather than 30 minutes. She shrugged her coat on and headed out the door, deciding that the worst of the day had to be behind her. Once she got to work, things would return to their normal, predictable routine.

It turned out that getting to work wasn't quite as easy as she'd hoped. Her car had been giving her trouble the last few days, so it wasn't a complete surprise when it refused to start. Whatever the cause, she had no time to formulate and test a hypothesis. Hurrying for the street corner, Brennan flagged a passing cab and collapsed into the back.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**11:00**

"Come on, Rebecca!" Booth exploded, glancing up at his office door to make sure it was closed. "You can't do this. Last weekend was supposed to be mine, and you stole Parker away to visit with Jason's family. The weekend before that, you had him at your mom's house. And the one before that, you took the poor kid antiquing, whatever the hell that is—"

"Parker enjoyed the day. It gave him a chance to connect with Jason in a different way."

"Yeah," Booth snorted. "Right. Shopping is such a great way for Parker to bond with his new stepfather."

Rebecca's tone was curt. "Not all men are as obsessed with sports as you, Seeley."

"I don't give a damn what Jason likes to do in his spare time," Booth retorted, every bit as irate as his ex. "But when his hobbies start cutting into my time with my kid, I'm gonna have problems. I had tickets to see the Flyers with Parker this weekend. We have a custody arrangement, Becca, and you've broken it 3 times in a row."

"I don't have time for this right now. I'm taking Parker to Pennsylvania this weekend, whether you like it or not. If you keep making a fuss, I'm going to bring the lawyers in."

"Go right ahead!" Booth shot upright in his chair. "I'm a damn good father and that'll stand up in any court."

"Fine. My lawyer will contact you on Monday."

"Fine!" He snapped his phone shut and threw it across the room, ignoring the ominous crunch as it hit the wall at high speed. "DAMMIT!"

Booth slammed his fist down onto his desk, neglecting to notice that he had a full, steaming mug of coffee in front of him. The mug overturned, sending a flood of scalding black fluid across paperwork he had just finished. He cursed a blue streak and scrambled backwards, but not fast enough to avoid the overflow which cascaded down the front of his shirt and over a good portion of his lap. He rocketed out of the chair, howling as his nether regions were baptized with freshly brewed Folger's.

The door to his office opened and Cullen stuck his balding head in. His boss scowled at him, oblivious to Booth's hot potato dance. "Put a sock in it, Agent. Some of us are actually working." The door slammed shut before Booth could get himself in trouble by snapping some sort of sarcastic retort.

It was hard to know what was worse—cooked testicles or the realization that he would have to spend hours redoing everything he had come into work early to finish, with the intention of having his weekend free with Parker. Booth dragged a hand through his hair and groaned, before gingerly making his way over to his phone, trying to avoid moving too fast because of his pants' current penchant for sloshing. He stooped awkwardly and retrieved the cellphone, confirming that he had, in fact, killed it.

Booth muttered several choice military epithets under his breath, all the while cursing the thin walls that prevented him from venting his frustration at a volume that might actually provide some stress relief. He lobbed the phone onto the couch and braced a hand on one sodden hip as he glared at his disaster-area of a desk.

No Parker. No cellphone. Scalded nads. All that, plus his already fantastic morning, which had involved a huge argument with Hannah before 6:00 am, overcooked eggs, and his favorite suit not being ready at the drycleaner's. And it was now … what ….he glanced at his clock … all of 11:00 a.m. Oh, yeah. This was shaping up to be a _fan-fuckin'-tastic _Friday.

Deciding that one way to improve his mood instantly was a piece of diner pie, Booth turned toward his desk to see if his takeout box had somehow survived the flood. Almost at the same time, he realized that he'd left the slice sitting on his kitchen counter when he stormed out of his apartment. The same apartment he'd promised to avoid this entire weekend.

He sighed and reached for his poker chip. If ever he needed luck, it was right now. Spending two days in a hotel room with Parker had sounded fun—different from their usual routine. Spending two days alone in that same hotel sounded less fun than it did completely loser-ish.

His hands connected with the lining of his pockets, but found no chip. There was never any deviation to that routine—pocket, chip, flip, pocket again. He patted himself down, trying to figure out what he could have done with it. A second search of his pockets revealed a small hole.

Booth closed his eyes, counted to ten, then opened them again and bellowed, "CRAP!" Before Cullen could get on his case again, he grabbed his car keys and stormed out of the building, but not before barreling straight into Hacker, who was visiting from the California branch he'd transferred to the previous year. The guy stalled him for 5 endless minutes while babbling on about Brennan and casework and dinner and Brennan again, before finally noticing that Booth was dripping brown rivulets on the grey industrial carpet.

"What happened to you?"

"Somebody put a voodoo curse on me," Booth snarled. He sloshed away, drawing attention from several of his amused buddies who had no idea that their friendly ragging was about to get their heads bashed in.

That had to be it, he decided as he exited the building. Benoit, the voodoo murderer, had somehow reached out from the grave and cursed him. The fact that he didn't believe in voodoo didn't make this theory any less accurate, in his opinion.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**1:30**

Angela stepped into Brennan's office and eyed her best friend with a mixture of sympathy and smugness. Wearing no make-up, with her hair damp and frizzy and her clothes rumpled from the combo subway and taxi ride, the anthropologist looked as disheveled as Angela had ever seen her. Brennan did not deal well with any chaos other than the typical amount inherent in her job chasing down murderers.

"I told you, you should've gone straight back to bed."

Brennan scowled at the email she had just finished reading, then shut the computer monitor off and continued to glare at the blank screen. "Returning to bed would have served no purpose, other than to avoid further coincidental mishaps which are just as likely to occur tomorrow as they are today."

"Coincidences," Angela repeated dryly. "Yeah. So your electricity goes off, along with your hot water-"

"The building's water heater is connected to a booster pump, which requires electricity to function," Brennan interrupted, finally looking over at her. "The fact that both incidences occurred simultaneously is strictly a matter of cause and effect."

"You lose your keys, your car won't start," Angela continued, undeterred.

"My car had been having problems—"

"Your taxi gets stuck in the mother of all traffic jams, you have to ride the subway part of the way in—"

"There was a water main break en route from my apartment, which was directly responsible for the traffic. It could have been connected to the power going out in my building. Again, cause and effect."

"The skeleton you were working on yesterday turns out to be nothing but bone soup when you walk in this morning."

"I had anticipated the chance of the bones disintegrating, given the strong chemicals they were treated with and the fragile state in which they arrived at the lab. I had hoped that the counter-measures Hodgins and I took would prove effective in temporarily mitigating the effects, but—"

"But they didn't work," Angela cut in. "Then Daisy flubs whatever project you had her working on; Russ calls to cancel his visit, which I know you'd been looking forward to for weeks," she held up her hand to stave off Brennan's immediate explanation, "And now that email, which had to be bad news."

"Why would you automatically assume that?"

"Uh … the look on your face?" Angela suggested, rolling her eyes. "Or the fact that this is just not your lucky day, sweetie."

"There is no such thing as luck," Brennan insisted, rounding the corner of her desk and starting for the door. "All of the incidents you described have logical reasons for occurring."

"Bren, wait—" Angela began, too late.

The scientist skidded in the puddle of oily copper reagent that an intern had spilled minutes earlier—the same spill Angela had been coming to warn Brennan about—wobbled, reached out for something to balance herself with and encountered the hapless intern who had been holding a mop a few feet away. Trying to make amends, Jenessa Longwright stepped forward to help, and found herself slipping just as badly. The pair clawed at each other for a long moment, before Jenessa latched onto Brennan's necklace in a desperate attempt to stay standing. Brennan went flat on her backside, pieces of the necklace flew in seven different directions, and the intern stumbled backwards, mouth gaping in horror.

The sounds of the lab around them went silent as everybody on the platform stared. Angela caught Jenessa before she could make the situation any worse, spun her around and pointed at the farthest corner of the lab. "Run. Hide," she ordered, then turned her attention back to Brennan. "Are you hurt?"

Without answering, Brennan began to gingerly pick herself up off the floor. She ignored Angela's proffered arm and somehow managed to pull herself to her feet without winding back up in the goop.

"What happened to you?"

Both women turned to find Booth walking up the platform steps, eyebrows raised. He approached them, carefully sidestepped the puddle, and frowned.

"Bones, you're bleeding."

Angela belatedly noticed the thin gash the wire of the necklace had made.

Brennan reached up and touched her throat, noting the blood on her fingertips with detachment. "It's a minor injury."

"Like your toe?" Angela caught Brennan's elbow at the same time that she glared daggers at everybody watching, warning them back to work. "Sweetie. _Go home."_

"What's going on?" Booth looked Brennan up and down, gaze lingering on her greasy, sodden labcoat.

"Brennan is having the day from hell," Angela informed him succinctly. She took in the FBI Agent's coffee-stained pants and shirt. "Doesn't look like yours is going much better."

"Benoit got to both of us," Booth said cryptically, still staring at Brennan in a way that gave Angela hope for the first time in months. "Is that your necklace all over the floor?"

"The voodoo murderer?" Brennan frowned. "He's incarcerated." She began collecting wooden pieces, sliding them into each pocket without commentary.

Booth crouched and joined his partner in collecting necklace pieces. "Doesn't mean he can't cast a jumbi, or whatever that thing that gave you amnesia was, from prison."

"I don't believe in curses or bad luck," Brennan said in exasperation, snatching a wooden rectangle away before Booth could get to it. "Why are you here? I left you a message explaining that I would require more time to analyze the now compromised skeletal remains."

"Didn't get that message," Booth said mildly. "You had lunch yet?"

Angela stage-whispered _Get her out of here _before sidling away and leaving the partners to figure things out in their own weird but frequently effective manner.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**3:20**

"Thanks, Bones. When I walked into that store and realized my wallet was still at the apartment …" Booth tugged on the lapels of his jacket. "I owe you."

"You owe me 1300 dollars," Brennan agreed, discreetly appreciating the way his broad shoulders were defined by the fabric . "I don't understand why you required an entire new suit, instead of merely laundering or replacing the stained shirt and pants."

He glanced at himself in a nearby storefront window. "Bones, you can't just buy a suit piecemeal. Part of the job is looking good."

He did that part of his job very well, Brennan mused, unable to fully compartmentalize her newly acknowledged feelings, even when Booth was now in a committed romantic relationship.

"I still don't understand why you can't go back to your apartment," she commented as they walked towards the park. "Or why Cam insisted that I leave the lab for the remainder of the day."

"We've got a curse on us," Booth shrugged. "Nobody wants to be around cursed people, Bones."

"I thought you didn't believe in curses."

"I don't. But how else do you explain the way our day has gone?"

"Unfortunate coincidence. Even if I did believe in voodoo magic, a curse would require Benoit to have something of ours in order to cast the spell. He has no such personal item in his possession."

"You can't be sure about that." Booth stopped at the corner to wait for the light to turn green.

"There are no cars coming." Brennan stepped off into the street, only to have Booth yank her backwards. She narrowly avoided sprawling to the floor for the second time that day, keeping her balance only by clinging to him in a distinctly undignified fashion.

"Not today, Bones," he chastised, obviously unaware of the effect his physical proximity was having on her. "The way things are going for us, jaywalking is a great way to get flattened."

Brennan yanked away, irritated at his alpha male behavior. "I don't require your protection. I am perfectly capable of crossing a street."

"Benoit could have taken a piece of your hair or something when he put the original voodoo curse on you," Booth said, aggravatingly unflustered as he took her elbow, ignoring her attempts to pull away again, and led her across the street. "I called Avalon."

"Avalon Harmonia?" Brennan stopped as they reached the other side and stared at Booth. "Angela's friend?"

"The psychic, yeah. I figured she might be able to help us get rid of the curse."

"We are _not _cursed. And she is not a psychic! There is no such thing."

"She told me you were in danger," Booth reminded her, nudging her forward again with a light touch to her lower back.

Brennan shied away. "We still don't know that she wasn't directly involved in those murders."

"She gave me a ritual that she promised would end our run of bad luck."

"You're Catholic." Brennan narrowly avoided an unexpected pothole. "If you truly believe you're cursed, shouldn't you have a priest perform an exorcism instead?"

"We're cursed, Bones." Booth gave her an annoyed look. "Not possessed."

"And the remedies are different," Brennan muttered sarcastically.

"Very."

They entered the small park, skirting a fresh pile of dog poop.

"Look at that." Booth grimaced as they neared the bench where they used to frequently have coffee. The bench was covered in signs: **WET PAINT. **"Still think we're not cursed?"

"Because the benches have been repainted?" Brennan asked in disbelief. "They've needed repainting for years."

"Nothing is going right for us today, Bones." Booth collapsed under a tree and waved her to join him, but not before checking the ground for safety hazards. "The way I see it, what harm can the ritual do?"

Brennan settled on the ground beside him, keeping a few inches in between them. "What would the ritual involve?" she sighed, humoring him for a change.

"I've got the recipe in my car." He leaned his head back against the trunk and closed his eyes. "Are you free tonight?"

She thought of her dark apartment, which she had learned would not have electricity or hot water restored until tomorrow.

"I'm free."

"Harmonia said we have to do it at midnight."

"Why midnight?" Brennan asked, knowing the predictably ludicrous response would negate the question.

"Witching hour or something like that," he shrugged. "The hotel room I had booked for Parker and me has two twin beds. You good with that?"

She sat up in surprise. "Why do we need a hotel room?"

"It's not like either of us has a place to stay tonight. C'mon, Bones. It could be fun, not counting any voodoo demons we might stir up."

"Why can't you go back to your apartment?" Brennan pressed.

He spoke quietly, his eyes still closed. "Hannah and I broke up."

Shocked, Brennan blurted, "I thought things were going well. She didn't tell me you were having any problems."

"It wasn't anything big." Booth finally opened his eyes and stared at his hands. "Just … stuff wasn't working out between us. It wasn't right."

She didn't know what to say. To say she was sorry would be a lie. To say she was elated would be insensitive. She scooted a little closer and nudged his shoulder with hers. "Maybe you _are _cursed." On second thought, that probably wasn't particularly sensitive either.

He grimaced and reached for his pocket. "Maybe."

"Where's your chip?" she asked, when his hand failed to re-emerge with the usual gambling talisman.

"Fell out of my pocket somewhere," Booth muttered, fiddling with a blade of grass instead.

This news bothered her far more than learning of his dissolution of his relationship with Hannah. Booth needed that poker chip the same way she needed her necklaces. She searched for something consoling to share with him.

"I submitted a new manuscript for publication several months back."

Booth glanced over at her curiously. "Yeah?"

"It was a different kind of novel, not related to forensic science." Brennan watched two squirrels squabbling over a candy bar remnant a few yards away. "My editor emailed me today. The submission was rejected."

"Aw, Bones." As she had done, he nudged her shoulder with his. "I'm sorry."

The sting of the rejection lessened slightly.

"I was disappointed," she admitted, very tentatively resting her head on his shoulder.

He leaned his head lightly next to hers and they sat in companionable silence for a while before she spoke again.

"What hotel are we staying at?"

Implausibly, she felt him smile, rather than saw it.

"The Monaco."

"By the Mall?"

"That's the one."

"That's an extremely nice hotel, Booth. It was built by the same architect who designed the Washington Monument."

"I didn't know that. It just has all these different rooms named for different cities-the Paris Ballroom, the Athens Room, the Tokyo Boardroom. I can't afford to take Parker traveling, so I figured, you know, maybe, this could kind of count …" he trailed off, obviously embarrassed.

"I'm sorry your surprise was ruined," she said softly, angry at Rebecca for failing to see how much effort Booth put into his weekends with Parker.

"Me too." He picked up a twig and twirled it absently. "So. You wanna go to Rome with me this weekend?"

She smiled. "Yes."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Part 2 of 2.**

**Many thanks to L., who helped me smooth the rough edges of this piece, and to my readers and reviewers for the last chapter. Not sure if the next Thursday post will be a one-shot or the start of the multi-chapter. Depends on how much I get done over Spring Break. Either way, there will definitely be something for your reading pleasure. I've only missed one Thursday since August so far. =)**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**11:10 p.m.**

Brennan stared at her partner as he stalked across the deserted platform toward her for the second time that day. "I just purchased that suit!"

Booth scowled, well aware of the picture he presented. His crisp new shirt now squelched, rather than rustled. It clung to his skin via a generous amount of black ink, which had bled downwards over his thighs so that they now resembled Rorschach designs.

"I'll still pay you back," he informed her, arriving at her side. "But you'll have to buy me another set of clothes so I have something to sleep in that doesn't smell like the inside of a copy machine."

Brennan stepped away from the tank of sludge she'd been sifting. "A copy machine?"

"Don't ask," he warned, taking in her own lab coat, which now boasted a palette of purple-blue not unlike the art deco splatters that covered Booth from neck to knee. "Looks like you had your own encounter with a jumbi."

"There was no black magic involved." She smoothed her hair back and inadvertently smeared purple goop across her face. "I was using ninhydrin in order to detect ammoniac traces in the bone remnants, and the chemical reaction proved unusually volatile when placed in proximity to the copper reagent I slipped in previously."

"Yeah. That's squint for _we are definitely cursed_." He handed a tissue box over, motioning toward her cheek.

She swiped blindly at the smear and only succeeded in making it worse.

"You look like you're wearing war paint. Here." Awkwardly, he cupped her cheek in one hand and dabbed at the smudge with a clean tissue. It didn't make much difference, other than to his pulse rate, which responded in typical fashion to having Brennan close at hand.

"Soap and water will have to do the rest," he concluded, releasing her after a few more moments than were strictly necessary. "You ready to leave?"

"I also have no clean clothes. Do we have time to stop by my apartment?"

"No. This spell has to be up and running by midnight in order for us to break free." He waited impatiently as she peeled off her coat and neatly folded it, placing it on the gurney as a reminder for it to be laundered. "Plus, your place is probably pitch black."

She led him toward her office. "Given our respective disheveled appearances, the hotel may have second thoughts about checking us in."

He glanced at her nicely fitted black slacks, which drew his eyes directly to her long legs. They seemed to have escaped damage. "You look fine, Bones." Opportunistically, he enjoyed a brief look at her matching, scoop-necked blouse. His break-up with Hannah had been for any number of reasons, but one of the most glaringly obvious problems had been the lack of chemistry. She was classically beautiful, and he'd done a fair job at acting satisfied until Hannah finally called him on the pretense, but placing her next to Brennan was like putting a Flyers player next to a Little Leaguer. Not just a completely different ballpark—a completely different sport and level of competition.

Brennan started to pull on her jacket and he moved to help her, holding it out for her to slide into. She winced when the collar of the coat made contact with the thin red line encircling her throat. He frowned and lightly touched the side of her neck.

"Did you put something on that?"

She pulled back, her eyes narrowing, and finished shrugging on the jacket by herself. "You know I don't do subtext well, Booth. We need to discuss the mastodon in the room prior to performing Avalon's 'ritual.'"

Typical Brennan, to grab an idiom by the trunk and twist it into a wooly mammoth.

"Elephant in the room," Booth corrected, sliding his hands into his pockets before he remembered that there was a significant amount of ink in them. "We need to discuss the elephant in the room, Bones." He muttered a curse and yanked his hands back out, smearing them over his already-ruined pants.

She hovered in the doorway, hands in her own pockets, and regarded him silently. Challenging.

He sighed. "Hannah and I split for any number of reasons, but you were a big part of them. Okay?"

"It's not okay," she retorted. "While I did erroneously make you aware of how my feelings for you had changed, I did not intend for it to irreparably damage your romantic relationship."

She turned and walked out of the office, and he followed a step behind, giving her some breathing room but not letting her outpace him completely.

"It wasn't an error to tell me."

Her face got that look that meant she was starting to throw up the emotional shields.

"I messed up, Bones," he acknowledged, as they descended the stairs. "By being dishonest, I hurt you. And Hannah."

She was silent until they had exited the building and were heading across the portico. Finally, she stopped and turned on him, her blue eyes glistening in the dim security lights.

"You did."

"I'm sorry."

"I wasn't hurt because you chose to move on after I rejected you, Booth. I was hurt because you—" Her voice broke slightly. "You were my best friend. Perhaps I was naïve in not realizing that role would inevitably be taken over by your new girlfriend."

There was so much he wanted to say to her, but now was not the time. He had a lot of bridges to rebuild before he earned the right to tell her she was still the one for him, and that this time he would not betray her trust.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I know that doesn't mean much, but—"

"It does," she interrupted. "You didn't intentionally hurt me. I know that."

A little voice deep inside said he wasn't so sure of that himself but, again, this was not the time.

"I have a lot to make up for," Booth admitted, reaching for his poker chip to fiddle with only to find it not there.

Brennan watched him, seeming to measure his worth with her steady gaze. Booth coughed awkwardly, reaching for something to smooth things over at least for this evening.

"You, uh, figure breaking a curse might be one way for us to turn to a new page?"

For a long moment, she said nothing. Then a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "While I do not believe in magic, I suppose there would be no harm in testing your hypothesis."

He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding and reached yet again for something he could nervously fidget with. Finding nothing, he grimaced.

Brennan reached into her own pocket and produced a small, paper-wrapped object. "I had intended to give this to you later in the evening, but you seem to require it immediately."

"Aw, Bones. You didn't have to—" Booth trailed off as he unwrapped the tiny, coin-sized gift. He turned the Flyers-embossed poker chip over and over in his hands. "Wow."

"Your original talisman was associated directly with luck it had purportedly earned you from gambling. However, gambling is the opposite of lucky for you," she explained, typically eager to make her intentions clear by muddling them up with lots of less-than-clear wording. "I thought that a sports-related theme, bearing no automatic associations to past financial gains or losses, might be appropriate as a 'lucky' replacement."

Booth had missed her squinting more than he cared to admit.

He tested the weight with a quick flip and grinned as the chip spun neatly into the air and settled back into his hand comfortably. "Thanks, Bones."

She nodded and started for the parking lot, elbowing Booth teasingly as he tested various maneuvers with his new fidget. "Sweets would say you have some sort of physical fixation."

"Sweets can bite me."

"In that case," Brennan said thoughtfully, waiting as he unlocked the SUV door, "Perhaps he would call it an oral fixation."

She was still laughing, delighted with herself, as he rounded the car to get in on his side. He was glad for the few moments alone. Oh, he had a physical fixation, all right. One bad enough that it had caused him to call out her name instead of Hannah's at an especially bad time …

He censored his thoughts hastily. She didn't need the details on exactly what had precipitated the break-up. Not yet, anyway.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Sorry about that," Booth apologized sheepishly as they rode the elevator up to their penthouse suite. "I wasn't thinking about credit cards when I suggested a visit to Italy."

Brennan shrugged. Her partner had been visibly embarrassed when he realized his lack of a wallet meant he had no funds to pay for their room anymore than he had money to buy another set of fresh clothing. She, on the other hand, was not disturbed by the reversal in traditional gender roles regarding payment.

"Now you owe me more money," she pointed out, stepping towards the door as the elevator stopped.

He spun his poker chip and followed her down the hallway. If the high-quality carpeting, glass-encased sculptures, and extremely well-reproduced Italian art prints covering the walls were anything to go by, their room was going to be bordering on opulent.

"No problem. With this baby, I'm gonna go all the way at the next craps game …"

"Booth!" she reprimanded. "I gave you the chip as a metaphorical token of good fortune."

"I know, Bones." He rolled his eyes. "Besides. It's kind of hard to take Vegas without, you know, a wallet."

She pointed to a door labeled _Roma_. "Presumably, this is our room?"

"That's us." Booth pulled out the card key and inserted it into the slot. The light turned green and there was a slight click. He pushed open the door and stepped aside to allow her in first. Brennan frowned, letting him know she didn't approve of the gesture, but decided to let the argument go this time. She moved into the room several feet and stopped short, causing Booth to bump into her from behind.

"Wow," he whistled.

"That is an appropriate superlative," she agreed.

High above them, the domed, stone-tiled ceiling was painted in an exquisite replica of Michelangelo's _The Creation of Adam. _Two walls were a pale, textured marble. They had large windows, draped in floor-to-ceiling blue fabric overlaid with golden suns. The north wall was a vibrant fresco of various mythological figures, whose colors had been carefully chosen so as not to clash with the rest of the room's decoration. A half-columned marble fireplace took over the entire south wall.

The mosaic-tiled floor that they stood upon was a light gold and rose basket-weave pattern. Deliberately designed to lead the eye, it culminated in a central square inlaid with contrasting white and grey stones. Furniture was extremely minimalistic and all wooden, except for a large couch covered in damask fabric that matched the bed.

The bed … Brennan's eyes came to rest on it. Definitely not twin sized, it held court over the center of the room, covered in velvet blue pillows and a heavily brocaded damask cover.

"Parker's class is studying Rome. He would have loved this."

She looked over at Booth, who had a sad, tired look on his face that she immediately wanted erased. They'd had a terrible day—a day from hell, he'd termed it—and she had had enough of sadness.

"You can bring him another time."

"Can't afford it." He shrugged casually, once again trying to downplay his embarrassment at his lesser financial status.

"You can. I'm paying for this weekend."

"No way," he said flatly, his face going hard with aggravation. "The whole hotel thing was my idea, Bones."

Brennan unbuttoned her jacket and started to pull it off. "You have to let me pay."

He snorted and reached for her sleeve. "Not happening."

She slid her other arm free and turned to him. "Consider this your apology for the last six months."

Booth sputtered, as she knew he would. "Whoa—wait a minute. Run that by me again, this time in English?"

"I was speaking very clear English," she replied, wandering into the bathroom and discovering that it was every bit as lavish as the bedroom.

He followed her in, still holding her jacket and protesting, even as his eyes went wide at the huge hot tub, which looked like it could hold six people plus a keg. "How is you paying for a hotel punishment for my basically sidelining our friendship just because I got a girlfriend?"

"I want to pay. You owe me. Therefore, you will allow me to cover the cost of this weekend without further argument."

"That doesn't make any sense!"

"Where is the spell recipe?"

"Bones—"

"I don't want to discuss this any further," she said sharply.

He opened his mouth and closed it again, apparently realizing the futility of trying to dissuade her. Still mumbling under his breath, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.

"The ink didn't get it too badly." He unfolded the slightly stained slip and handed it over.

Brennan read it out loud.

**Collect the following ingredients:**

**-Two teaspoons of almond oil **

**-Rosemary oil **

**-Mixing bottle **

**-Sheet of white paper **

**-Black ink pen **

**-White candle **

**-Purple candle **

**-Fireproof bowl **

"Fireproof bowl?" she repeated. "While I have no objections to paying for our room, I have no desire to pay for damage occasioned by an ill-advised attempt at black magic."

"It'll be fine," he reassured her.

"Where are we going to get all these things? It's 11:45."

Booth lifted the plastic bag he'd been carrying with him since they left the SUV. "Angela's hippie tendencies really came in handy today."

She watched as he extracted several small vials of oil, a metal bowl, two candles and an empty squirt bottle and placed them on the bathroom counter.

"I fail to see how any of these items in any combination with one another are going to create magic," Brennan said, feeling more than slightly foolish.

"It can't hurt is all I'm thinkin.'" Booth added a blank piece of paper and a box of matches to his pile. "Okay. Read me the directions, step by step."

Brennan rolled her eyes and smoothed the creases in the paper. "Place three drops of rosemary and almond oil in the mixing bottle."

"She should've mentioned an eye dropper in the instructions," he complained, twisting the caps off each vial and trying to decant a measured amount into the equally small squirt bottle.

"That's far more than two drops," Brennan commented, as he spilled rosemary all over the counter and himself. The pungent, fresh fragrance was pleasant, at least. "What happens if we cast the spell and you haven't measured the ingredients properly?"

"I don't know, we turn into eyes of newt or something." Booth waved his hand. "Next step."

"Charge the mixture by rolling the bottle between the palms of your hands, maintaining only positive thoughts as you do this." She frowned. "Almond oil and rosemary are not ionic compounds."

"Shhh," he ordered, rubbing the bottle between his hands as though he was trying to light a fire. "Only positive thoughts!"

"It's completely irrational," she persisted. "How will rolling the bottle in your hands affect anything?"

"Next step," he snapped, glaring at the oily bottle in his hands.

"Set the bottle aside. Light the white candle, focusing on the flame. As you do this, focus all your positive energy on eliminating the source of the conflict. How can we focus on eliminating the source of the conflict if we don't know what it is?"

Booth ignored her and lit the candle, his face looking decidedly less than focused or positive. "Next."

The absurdity of the situation began to get to Brennan and she giggled, earning a warning glare from him. "Baptize the purple candle—" she snickered, "with the positive oils, moving it away from you as you do. This will direct the negativity away from your person."

"Baptize the candle." Booth grabbed the squirt bottle and liberally doused the candle with almond and rosemary.

"I'm not certain it will light now that you have saturated the wick," she said helpfully. "And you didn't move it away as you baptized it."

Booth swore and shoved the candle at her. "You back away while I squirt."

She swallowed a laugh, which then decided to escape as a snort. He glared at the candle in her hands and dripped the remaining oil on it. Brennan giggled and clutched the slippery candle tighter.

"Bones! You were supposed to move backwards while I squirted."

Obediently, she backed away, biting her lower lip in a vain attempt to cooperate.

"Not now," he groaned. "I don't have anything left to baptize with."

She continued backing towards the door, knowing she was about to lose what remained of her composure.

"Come back here!" Booth complained, reaching for her. "What's the next step?"

Desperately, she held the paper up to her eyes and choked out, "On the paper write the words _Woe and gloom and ill betide, leave this room at once or die."_

"That can't be what it says," he said in disbelief. "Give me that!" Booth snatched the paper away and read it out loud, ignoring her increasingly hysterical giggles. "_Woe and gloom and ill betide, leave this room at once or die." _He glared daggers at the paper, as though it was to blame for the ridiculous words written upon it. "What the hell?"

"You sh-sh—" Brennan tried valiantly to get a grip on herself. "Sh-should f-finish the ritual …" Booth stomped around—folding the paper in half three times, trying to light the purple candle and discovering that it was not about to cooperate, giving up and lighting the white candle instead, almost setting fire to himself as he tried to ignite the paper— and Brennan gave up. She leaned back and laughed until her lungs hurt, releasing all the tension of the day and the pain of the last months.

The white candle kept going out in a sad little puff of scented black smoke. The purple candle had a mind of its own, it seemed, and kept sliding out of Booth's hands and shooting across the counter. Half the matches were duds. The paper _would not_ light.

Finally, Booth turned and glared at his partner. "You think this is funny, huh?"

Brennan howled.

A hint of a smirk appeared on his lips. "Okay. Not one of my finer moments, I'll admit."

"Read the final incantation," she suggested, barely getting the words out coherently.

His voice choked like hers had earlier, wobbling dangerously as he continued. "As this paper burns away, Universe keep ill at bay."

"The Universe has ears!"

"Universe, please hear me pray."

"The Universe is _listening …"_

Booth gave her a mock stern look as he waved his hands over the barely-singed paper. "Turn back the evil sent me and send it on its way."

Brennan hadn't laughed so hard in a very, very long time.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Seeing her laugh made up for the hollow feeling he'd been carrying around ever since returning to the States.

When she finally got herself under control enough to stand up, it was only to convulse again in helpless giggles at the sight of his failed magic experiment cluttering up the counter. Booth shook his head and helped her out into the suite, making sure she didn't wind up giving herself a rug burn by rolling around on the floor.

Her body went comfortably limp against his as he escorted her toward the bed, with every intention of backing away to safety as soon as he removed his arm from around her waist. Brennan turned out to have another idea altogether. So fast he never saw it coming, she pulled a karate move on him that landed him flat on his back.

"Hey!" he protested half-heartedly.

She flopped down beside him and they lay sprawled next to one another comfortably, Brennan's breath coming in short gasps as the remainder of her laughter died away. Booth stared up at the painting on the ceiling, avoiding the obvious discussion that had to happen about their sleeping arrangements.

The silence between them was just starting to get awkward when he felt her hand slide into his. His fingers wrapped around hers automatically, as if it was completely ordinary for his partner to initiate hand-holding.

"You're uncomfortable with the idea of us spending the night in the same bed," she observed.

He kept his eyes on the ceiling, and wondered if she was looking at him. "Bones … I just broke up with Hannah." It probably wasn't the right thing to say, but it was honest, and that was a start after so many months of lying.

Instead of pulling away, her hand turned slightly in his, seeking a more comfortable grip.

"I will admit to wanting sexual intercourse with you."

He blushed. "Geez, Bones—"

"However, I am willing to wait until you believe a sufficient time has passed so that you do not feel disloyal."

"It's not that … not totally. I … just …" he fumbled for the right words. "Ah … Hannah and me … it was never you and me, you know?"

"That would be a physical impossibility."

In spite of the tension, Booth couldn't help but smiling at her predictable response. "I still feel the same way about you, Bones."

She could've called him 17 different kinds of names. Instead, her hand remained in his, indicating that she was prepared to wait until he was ready to continue.

He reached into his pocket with his free hand and was grateful to find the poker chip. The ridged edges were calming as he rolled them against his fingers. "But this … on the same day Hannah and I split … it cheapens things. Y'know?"

Her voice betrayed no signs of anger. "If you choose to view things in such a manner, it seems I have no choice but to continue waiting until you feel the timing is no longer inappropriate."

Again, they lay quietly, while Booth's thoughts went through a series of contortions, vying with his admittedly dented morals and his desire to grab this chance with Brennan and run with it way, way past the goal line.

"You're saying you still feel the same way about me?" he finally asked carefully. "The same way you felt in the SUV?"

He turned his head and found her looking straight at him, her blue eyes looking straight through all his crap, seeing the truth underneath and not flinching away. The way it had always been between them.

"Yes."

Booth looked away, hiding the emotion that was no doubt scrawled all over his face. He was struggling to get those emotions back under lock and key when he felt Brennan scoot closer. Her body turned into his, and her head came to rest on his chest.

"_Bones_." Her name came out more of a guttural whisper than anything articulate.

"Do you want me to spend the night in another room?" Her tone was completely devoid of innuendo, or else Booth would have suspected she was taunting him.

"Hell, no." Again, his body acted automatically. His arm wrapped around her, pulling her tight against his waist.

She draped her arm across his chest and adjusted her position so that her chin came to rest under his head. He kicked off his shoes and felt her do the same, her feet moving to tangle with his.

An exhausted peace filled Booth. She was making no demands and he finally had no need to pretend. Even fully clothed, with the lights on and the covers not over them, it would be so easy to close his eyes, let down his guard, and finally_ rest_. Right before he gave in to the pull of sleep, he reached over and grabbed his coat.

Brennan opened her eyes sleepily and watched as he rummaged through the pockets without looking until his fingers found what they were looking for. He extracted her present and held it up for her inspection.

"Might be more effective than candles and essential oils if your lights go out again."

She took the battery-operated small alarm clock from him and smiled. "Do you mind if I don't set it for tomorrow morning?"

"If you do, it'll wind up in the fire bowl," he threatened, grinning.

Brennan reached over and placed his gift on the nightstand, turning it so the blue LCD display didn't bother them. He snagged the corner of the comforter and dragged it over them, ignoring the need to get under the sheets.

She settled back against him, her fingers tracing idle circles on the T-shirt she'd purchased for him to replace the second ruined suit. "Today was a good day, Booth."

He smiled and pressed his cheek to her soft hair. "It kinda was, wasn't it."

Her quiet laughter followed him into his dreams.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: I took some liberties with the Hotel Monaco. It does exist, however, not as described.**


End file.
